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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256523">Losing the Rhythm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneloquentSD/pseuds/IneloquentSD'>IneloquentSD</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>On the Back Foot [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, D/s undertones, F/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Pre-Slash, The author wallowed in Yenn's emotions and makes no apologies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:41:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneloquentSD/pseuds/IneloquentSD</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After her dance with Jaskier, Yennefer contemplates how she got to this point - and how best to move forward.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>On the Back Foot [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Losing the Rhythm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/animedragoness/gifts">animedragoness</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A small content warning for some harsh and self-deprecating thoughts from Yenn. Nothing serious or explicit, but she is definitely less than kind to herself.</p>
<p>I will also note that Yenn does not feel especially kindly or generous towards Geralt in this. I love the man, but at this point in the narrative, Yenn is pretty upset with him.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yenn presses herself into composure with the weight of decades of experience controlling her emotions. As she exits the ballroom, her pace is steady and measured. Her face is neutral, if not serene.</p>
<p>If she is fleeing, no one would find evidence with which to accuse her.</p>
<p>But as she ducks into the concealed nook in the hallway, letting the tapestry fall back into place behind her, she knows that is exactly what she is doing.</p>
<p>This was a terrible idea. She shouldn’t have come.</p>
<p>She slumps onto the cold stone bench, fisting her hands into her skirts. Her fingers are trembling, and that will not do.</p>
<p>Melitele, she should have stayed away.</p>
<p>But when she had received the Marchioness’ invitation, with her boasts that Jaskier would be performing at the event, well. </p>
<p>She had rationalized that the Marchioness had been a good resource over the years, more than willing to pay for a steady supply of potions and minor enchantments. The woman was not a friend, but a pleasant enough business associate that it would be unwise to alienate her.</p>
<p>Yennefer bites her lip, hard enough that the taste of blood mingles with the beeswax tang of lip paint.</p>
<p>If she’s honest with herself, she had accepted the invitation in the hopes of seeing the bard.</p>
<p>Foolish. Sappy. Weak.</p>
<p>She knew he had parted ways with Geralt. It was easy enough to divine from the gossip. Jaskier did not always travel with the Witcher, but he always sang of him. When he stopped being so willing to perform those songs, and the songs he <em>did</em> perform were abruptly woven through with grief and anger… It must have been a truly nasty farewell to affect the bard so.</p>
<p>Word spreads quickly, especially to those who make a habit of traversing the continent with speed.</p>
<p>She can admit that she’s always enjoyed Jaskier’s wit. The man is obnoxious, but he has never been afraid to snipe back at her. The novelty of his fearlessness is something she grudgingly came to admire.</p>
<p>Over her years of crossing paths with him, she had made it a personal challenge to see if she could get the last word in, run him dry of cutting retorts. It had brought her great joy and amusement, a thrill of verbal savagery and the rewards of subtle dominance. Leaving him stuttering for words became an odd and particular intimacy she held over the bard.</p>
<p>And now.</p>
<p>She’d left Geralt. Her feelings towards the Witcher are more roil and scream than anything she can dissect or name. </p>
<p>Foolish piglet - she had thought that he had chosen to love her, to care about her. That thought had almost been enough to make her feel that she had enough of what she wanted, that <em>she</em> was enough. For a few short hours, sharing his breath and body heat on the mountain, she had almost - almost - believed she could be content.</p>
<p>But Destiny had caught her in its web once again, the deceitful bitch. Geralt didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him. It was all just magic - nothing real. Nothing worthy of trust.</p>
<p>Yenn’s exhale is shaky, echoing against the cold stone walls of the little alcove. If her eyes are a bit damp, there is no one there to see. She allows herself this weakness.</p>
<p>She so, so badly wants affection she can trust. She wants someone to love her, truly and sincerely, without illusions or compulsions. There is a dry, thirsty scrubland in the center of her soul, installed there when she was a broken child and grown large with the droughts of her adulthood.</p>
<p>Was something real so much to ask for? Jaskier looked at Geralt with so much trust and so much love. He had poured out all of his affections to the man, despite Geralt returning only dribs and drabs, and then - eventually - harsh contempt.</p>
<p>Geralt had been the center of Jaskier’s world, and that had been real in a way magic never, ever could be.</p>
<p>So, Yenn had received the Marchioness’ invitation. She had seen that the bard would be in attendance. She had rationalized, and then she scribbled out a positive RSVP because she wanted what Jaskier had given to Geralt for so many years for herself.</p>
<p>She presses her eyes shut, feels the moisture slip down her cheeks. Her mascara is sticky against her lower lashes.</p>
<p>She shouldn’t have come. She was greedy, and weak, and foolish.</p>
<p>She hadn’t expected Jaskier to be friendly to her. Not right away. That was not how they had ever operated, and her calculated shift in approach was sure to be startling to him.</p>
<p>She had expected him to greet her with narrowed blue eyes and that false court smile, too tight at the corners. So he had. She hadn’t been disappointed. She hadn’t.</p>
<p>But it was rude to refuse a dance without good reason, and Yennefer had waited until he had been conversing with the Marchioness to hedge her bets with the full weight of propriety. </p>
<p>Jaskier is a kind man. If she could just show him that she had set their animosities aside, she had thought, maybe he would do the same. Maybe with a dance, she could show him that she trusted him. Maybe she could see if there was a chance he might trust her in return. Maybe. Just maybe. </p>
<p>Maybe, now that Geralt is gone from their lives, <em>maybe</em> they can seek solace in each other.</p>
<p>So many maybes.</p>
<p>She’d gotten her dance.</p>
<p>She hadn’t expected to take the lead, but it had - somehow, indefinably - been better that way.</p>
<p>Jaskier had narrowed his eyes and grumbled as she led him to the dance floor, but he hadn’t snapped or sniped at her. Far more quickly than she had expected, he had relaxed into her arms.</p>
<p>In the hidden alcove, Yenn lets her head rest against the stone wall. She lingers on the details of that dance, analyzes each moment. Where did it go wrong?</p>
<p>Jaskier is an excellent dancer. The tune the Marchioness’ troubadours had struck up had been for an exotic 3/4 beat. The steps were simple but novel, and Jaskier had followed her into them without any hesitation or missteps.</p>
<p>His fine stubble had scratched against her cheek when she pulled him close, and his back had been so warm beneath her palm, the slide of his silk doublet an extra frisson of decadence. His breath had been tinged with mint, and his arm, resting so lightly on top of her own, had been surprisingly firm with muscle. </p>
<p>She had watched the wariness leave his eyes, reveled as the corners of his lips relaxed and his smile began to ring with sincerity. For a minute or two, he had felt like an extension of her, moving as she moved, melting into her and flowing from her with every spin and turn.</p>
<p>She imagines, as she wallows alone in a dim hallway, that Geralt must have felt that kind of exhilaration when Jaskier doted on him. How foolish of the Witcher to turn that pure devotion away.</p>
<p>She thinks, to experience that connection again, she might do terrible things.</p>
<p>And then, abruptly, Jaskier had stiffened. Those blue eyes had hardened back to steel, and Yennefer had felt the shift like a knife sliding between her ribs.</p>
<p>Now, here she is, wrestling with her emotions to the dim sounds of music and merriment that float down the hall. How pedestrian. How cliche. Surely she is better than this.</p>
<p>Yennefer stands, and with a small wave of glamour, erases all outward signs of her distress. Her hands are steady.</p>
<p>This <em>was</em> a terrible idea, yes. But, Jaskier had trusted her, however briefly. If he can trust her at all, she has a chance, if only she doesn’t give up. </p>
<p>A smile takes her lips, sharp and perhaps a bit predatory. Jaskier can give her something real, can nourish that desolate biome in her soul with his trust &amp; affection. She will bloom for him, and in return, cherish him in ways Geralt never did. </p>
<p>She sweeps back down the hall as she hears the music pause.</p>
<p>“It is our pleasure,” someone announces, “to have Jaskier, Master Bard, perform for us tonight.”</p>
<p>Yes, Yennefer thinks, it will certainly be her pleasure. She will <em>ensure</em> it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is utterly self-indulgent navel-gazing, and I will not apologize for it.</p>
<p>The lovely animedragoness wanted Yenn's perspective on her dance with Jaskier. I could only, with great pleasure, oblige.</p>
<p>This... may turn into a whole series.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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